What is Jazz?

For me, jazz is the kind of music that brings a lot of bright emotions, and jazz never makes me bored.

Jazz is never the same; it is full of movement and actions – just like a living organism. Also it is a free style of music. Every improvisation of jazz usually doesn’t commit to paper and their life is too short but very bright, like a little star on the sky, which sparkles brightly and then burns out, making you wonder.
Melody of jazz is full of beautiful and the same time sophisticated harmony that makes you happy.
Syncopated rhythm and a swing of melody start you dancing along with it.
However, if you listening or play blues, you feel sadness or compassion because blues is a song of a lonely soul.

I’ll never get tired of jazz because it gives me energy, motivation, and inspiration.

My Name

My complete name is Regina Aparecida Bulgarelli. My middle is a name of the Saint in Brazil. My mother wanted a lot to have a girl. She tried 4 times before me. I am the youngest among 4 brothers. Every year she went to the city of the Saint in Sao Paulo State to visit the Saint the she was devoted. Once she decided to make a promise for "Nossa Senhora Aparecida" the Saint, if she had a girl, she will give her name to the baby. The Saint heard her and I'm here.

What can you say? what can you think? what can you even feel, when you know you just start to share your five senses with somebody you even love yet. A big silence begins to grow up into your belly. The girl is still too little for the word "woman". people talk , walk, ask , look..... but it is just you with your own noises inside your body. it is just you, trying to read the black and white signs that back an forth inside your brain. it is just you, with your head down, looking at your legs, waiting for your turn, guessing how everything is gonna be. Something in the very deep says you "dont do it", but we never learnt to hear those kind of voices, you always hear what you have to do, not what you really want to. There you are girl , with your stripe green sweater and your broken pants, stucked in a puddle of mud, with your eyelashes all wet, with your trembling body, your sweat hands holding your old doll, and your hair around your neck trying to hang up yourself.

-who is next? a voice yell.

You look at his eyes. Yours are scared.

-Everything is going to be as it was before. He says.

- Over here please, the voice says again.

The room is all white .

-Lay down and close your eyes, it is going to be fast "it is not even an operation".

Your hands press the bedsheets in order to asphyxiate the blame, because in the very deep you know nothing is going to be as it was before.





(This is an answer for the short story called: "Hills like with elephants " by Enerst Hemingway. )